Alex Gray - Five ways to kill a man

So there was an extra spring to his step when Lorimer finally left the Greenock headquarters and headed for his ancient Lexus. The big car seemed restless and impatient as one set of traffic lights after another made it stop and start, but at last the long stretch of dual carriageway alongside the River Clyde came into view and Lorimer swung into the outside lane, accelerating with a sense of relief. Work was behind him for another day. The chaos left by Colin Ray’s sudden departure was gradually coming under control and each aspect of the case was being dealt with. His final report could make the former SIO look like a total incompetent but Lorimer knew he would temper it with a lot of sympathetic detail about Grace’s demise. For now it was not only his responsibility to sort out what had gone wrong with this case but to try his level best to make new progress. And he felt that he was beginning to do just that.

The Shish Mahal restaurant in Park Road was always full on a Friday night and so booking a table had been essential. Maggie smiled as a waiter took her coat and led them to their table.

‘I still think of this as the new place,’ she confided as they sat down opposite one another. ‘How long has it been here now?’

Her husband shrugged, his mind clearly on other things. He’d not spoken about work today either before the hospital visit or on their way across town, but that didn’t mean that his thoughts weren’t occupied by what was going on down in Greenock.

Maggie looked around, admiring the decor. Muted beige blinds were rolled down to head-height on the huge expanse of windows to keep out the darkness; the remaining glass was scattered with lozenges of circles and stars. Above them a giant seven-legged brass disc was suspended from the ceiling. Maggie smiled. The chandelier always reminded her of a strange spaceship, something that might have escaped from the War of the Worlds.

In the old days the Shish had been around the corner in Gibson Street, a haven for students like themselves. Now the building that had housed the former restaurant was demolished and only Maggie’s memories of these times remained. Her reverie was disturbed by Rosie bouncing in beside her, one arm flung around her neck and a kiss firmly planted on her cheek.

‘Hi, you two. Sorry we’re late. Met up with a neighbour and his dog as we came over the park. Typical! We live a stone’s throw from the Shish and you’re here before us!’ Rosie leaned across the table and blew a kiss in Lorimer’s direction. ‘How goes it? No, don’t tell me or we’ll be talking shop all night. Anyway, we’ve got some great news!’

Maggie looked from her friend’s shining face to the bearded man sitting beside her husband. Solly Brightman seemed both shy and embarrassed at once.

‘You’re not…?’

‘Preggers? No chance!’ Rosie laughed, showing twin dimples in her fair cheeks. ‘No, my clever man here’s got himself a fabulous book deal!’

‘Well! Congratulations, Solly. Think this may call for champagne. How about it?’ Maggie suggested.

Lorimer nodded his agreement and smiled at his companion. Solly had written several books on the subject of behavioural psychology and Lorimer was curious to know why Rosie was making a fuss about another one. ‘Something special?’ he asked.

‘Well,’ Solly began, pausing as though the three pairs of eyes upon him were rendering him speechless. Then he grinned, his expression one of boyish glee. ‘It’s about female serial killers, actually. And a London publisher has offered me rather an attractive advance.’

‘Seems the public can’t get enough of real-life crime and Solly’s been doing work on this area for ages now,’ Rosie enthused.

‘I wouldn’t have thought that there were all that many women who committed crimes like that,’ Maggie began. ‘It’s not something you hear about, is it? I mean, there are the women who are in thrall to men who are multiple killers, but I can’t think of any single woman who has been on a killing spree.’

‘Perhaps that’s why the publisher found it so appealing,’ Lorimer countered. ‘What we don’t know is going to become all that more interesting once we read about it. Though I suspect Solly’s case studies won’t be confined to the UK. Right?’

Solly nodded. ‘There are a few cases in the US that will come into the book. But it isn’t all contemporary crime. I do use some models from the previous two centuries.’

‘But be warned,’ Rosie told them, pretending to be stern, ‘every unsolved case you have from now on is potentially by a female warrior!’

Maggie laughed with the rest of them, knowing that the pathologist’s words were only half-true. Solly might be pretty focussed on this topic right now but in every case where he had collaborated with the police, her husband had respected his judgement concerning a possible profile.

‘Have you included Aileen Wuornos in your study?’ Lorimer asked and immediately the conversation turned to a TV programme that they had seen on the subject of the American serial killer.

Maggie listened for a little, nodding as they spoke. Solly’s book, she realised, would make good reading.

A pretty Polish waitress glided up to their table, asking for drinks orders, and Maggie let her eyes wander across the room to where other diners were already busy over their plates of food. A dark-suited actor whose name she couldn’t recall was regaling his young female companion with a story that involved a lot of hand waving and facial grimaces. Maggie took a surreptitious look at the girl to see how she was responding but saw only a fixed, polite smile on her face. Every table was full. A quick glance towards the door let her see a foursome of hopefuls enter only to be told with dignified courtesy that there would be no place for them that evening. The disappointment on their faces told its own story.

Then a smiling waiter was at her side, blocking any further chance she might have of people-watching, and Maggie joined the others in ordering their favourite dishes. To her relief, Solly’s book was still being discussed and nobody seemed to mind that she did not contribute to the conversation. It was enough for Maggie that nobody had asked the all-encompassing question of her mother’s welfare: for once she wanted to forget the daily visit and the problems that might lie ahead. As if something of this thought had been uttered aloud, Solly caught Maggie’s eye and for a long moment he smiled at her. There was more than sympathy in the psychologist’s expression: it was as if he could read her very thoughts, see into the depths of her soul. Instead of being disturbed by this sudden insight, Maggie Lorimer found it oddly comforting and she reached across the table, giving Solly a light pat on the back of his hand.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough and only towards the end of the meal did Lorimer mention the subject that had been concerning him.

‘A stalking cyclist?’ Solly murmured. ‘That sounds a little bit complicated. I don’t think I’ve come across an example of that, but do let me check up, will you? The old ladies sound as though they have little else in common, however. One very frail and practically housebound, the other out and about on a daily basis.’ He smiled his slow smile at the tall policeman sitting next to him. ‘If their deaths hadn’t been so similar nobody would have bothered, would they? But,’ he added with a twinkle, ‘you don’t believe in coincidences, do you?’

It was a frosty night, the air clear and sharp, promising a day of bright skies to come. Every star and planet that had fizzled into the Universe seemed to be demanding attention — especially the moon, its one baleful eye bearing down on me. The ticking sound of the bicycle pedals ceased as soon as I stopped walking and I held my breath, waiting for the right moment to continue my preliminary study of the street. It was several blocks away from the ones that I already knew but this particular row of homes looked promising.